


Cure her heart

by Halja



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Caning, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/F, Obedience, Orders, author thought she was over hetalia but she will never be free apparently, domme!Hungary, sub!Belarus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halja/pseuds/Halja
Summary: You wouldn't think it of her, really. And yet.





	Cure her heart

**Author's Note:**

> For the Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2018. Prompt: [Belarus/Hungary, obedience](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/23893.html?thread=3459669)

  
  
You wouldn’t think it of her, really. Not Belarus. Not the proud girl with eyes like pale stars, eternally burning, burning, burning cold and faraway in the dark. Not the steadfast one, all sturdy muscle and bones sharp enough to cut, and all of it hidden behind soft, sweet-smelling skin and soft, sweet-smelling hair. Not the creature moving sure and deliberate as a cat or fast and deadly as lightning, with smiles as rare and hard as jeweled knives.  
  
And yet.  
  
When Hungary says _kneel,_ long, fair hair tumbles around her pale face, baring her bent back in the suddenness of the movement, quick and mechanical as a well-oiled machine. When Hungary says _close your eyes_ , she doesn’t need to circle around her to know that she obeyed her, that the stars have set in the dim light of their room.  
  
She does anyway. She doesn’t usually wear heels, but today’s an exception. These days always are. Her heels click and click on the floor, over and over again, slow and resolute, and she watches Belarus go from rigid to tense to taut.  
  
On these days, she’s the prey. But is prey even the right word, when she willingly offers herself to the huntress?  
  
«Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what you need. Tell me everything,» says Hungary, in a voice as soothing as warm water, letting the words slowly flow over Belarus’ body. But only after staring at her in silence for as long as she can. Only when she sees her try to keep from shivering, and fail.  
  
Belarus struggles. Despite everything, she always struggles. Must be tough, being always hard and sure and deadly and burning and cold, and then finding yourself still wanting and longing – for _this._ And yet. Once again, Belarus obeys, without ever raising her head. Without ever trying to rise and to _take._  
  
She follows her orders to the letter, keeps nothing from her, and the earnestness in her still-cold, still-sharp voice brings a smile to Hungary’s lips. Soon, earnestness will be all that’s left to her, with neither frost nor harshness to be found. Soon, Hungary’ll make her warm and soft, flushed and sweet. Quivering in her arms, moaning under her hand. Crying her need, begging for more, utterly lost and beautiful.  
  
If she’ll be good and do as she says, of course. But Hungary has no doubt she will.  
  
The deep tremble she gets when she lightly traces the pale column of Belarus’ spine with her cane is proof enough of that, in her book.


End file.
